So Many Worse Things
by The Third Marauder
Summary: "I've done so many worse things that you don't even know about, Peter." Here are some of those things. Pre-series. Neal centric. Chapter Two, The Good Old Days: How Neal meets Keller.
1. Thunder and Lightning

**Disclaimer:** **White Collar belongs to the USA Network and Jeff Eastin. This fic specifically pulls references and side characters from Episode 1.13, Front Man, and Episode 2.12, What Happens in Burma. The title comes from Neal's line in Episode 1.09, Vital Signs: "Peter, I've done so many worse things that you don't know about."  
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* * *

Neal Caffrey is everything his reputation says he is.

Charming, confidant, and a consummate professional with a taste for style, Ryan Wilkes admits that working with him has been an experience like no other. Because Caffrey is good. _Extremely_ good. Better than anyone Wilkes has ever partnered with before, and _that_ is no small achievement. No, Caffrey is special. And this is a relationship that Wilkes wants to develop further.

He says as much after their first job (although it's really only the first step to a larger con) goes off without a hitch. Caffrey has successfully picked and cracked his way into the office building of the company in charge of the security plans for the trunk show. As much as Wilkes admires Caffrey's abilities and skills, he insists on accompanying his partner for the take; after all, Caffrey is a conman, one of the world's best, and Wilkes had not made it as far as he had by trusting the words of people whose careers relied on cheating and scamming. They are in the process of returning the gloves Wilkes had swiped from a janitor's closet when he first suggests it.

"We could be something, you know," he mentions offhandedly. "Partners. Thunder and lightning."

Caffrey's expression is unreadable and his tone dry. "As long as I'm the lightning. I've never been much of a follow-up act kind of guy."

Wilkes laughs. "The famous Caffrey wit I've heard about."

"I wouldn't want to disappoint," Caffrey bows theatrically, but Wilkes can't help but be disappointed. He hadn't been expecting the conman to jump at the offer—Caffrey was too much the suave, collected strategist for that—but Wilkes had hoped for a bit more warmth in the reaction. There was something here. Wilkes sensed it, and he knew that Caffrey could not be oblivious to the prospects their teaming up might provide.

It is easy to shrug off the frustration, though. The operation is going too smoothly for Wilkes to stay upset for long. Having Caffrey on the team brings up the average exponentially— his crew all knows that Wilkes has never been one to overlook slacking in his crew, and they have adjusted accordingly, upping their games to match the benchmarks of excellence Caffrey has unconsciously set.

And it _is_ unconscious.

Because Wilkes is fairly certain that Caffrey does not quite realize how talented he actually is. Modern security standards and law enforcement has made it difficult enough to be a world-class forger or a first rate art thief or a master con artist or an outstanding escape artist separately anymore. To be all of them at once and _excel_ the way Caffrey has managed to should not be possible. Yet the results of that unification is currently lounging on a couch in Wilkes's hide-out lazily shuffling a deck of cards, the very picture of boredom. Until he looks up. Because Wilkes sees immediately the calculating gleam in his eyes, the sparkle of mischievousness and hyper-intelligence, the hints of the whirlwind of scheming thought that reveals that Caffrey is anything but aloof and disinterested, and, for the first time, Wilkes understands why people say that the dark haired conman is a dangerous person to write-off.

Yes, Caffrey lives up to his reputation.

* * *

Which is probably why Wilkes is not expecting it when the first signs of hesitation arise. From all Wilkes has heard, Caffrey has never been one to back down from a challenge. His "play the game like you have nothing to lose" mentality was the first thing that attracted Wilkes to Caffrey, and much of the reason why their partnership has progressed so easily. So when the blue-eyed conman falters during the first full briefing, Wilkes is caught off-guard and reacts a bit more strongly than he perhaps should have.

"We're breaking in midday?" Caffrey questions, and there is reproach in his tone.

"You think there is a better time?" Wilkes challenges. He doesn't like to be doubted in front of his crew. "Security isn't as tight in the middle of the day."

"Because the building is teeming with people," Caffrey agrees. "But that also means that there's no way we'll be able to make the grab without somebody noticing. If we go in the night before, we'll have to circumvent the alarms, but the chance that we would be seen becomes miniscule."

It is logical. Clean. Elegant. A classic Caffrey con. But Wilkes has never been known for pulling jobs quietly. He likes people to know that a crime was his, likes to be able to take the credit.

So he shrugs, "That's true. _If_ I cared about being seen."

Caffrey blinks. He is incredulous, "What's the escape strategy, then? You don't think they are going to let us just walk out with millions of dollars worth of jewels, do you?"

"I don't expect to come up against much resistance," Wilkes smiles chillingly, glancing over to his gun cabinet. "I am hoping that any witnesses will be… subdued."

"You want to use guns." The words are flat.

Wilkes observes Caffrey closely. The conman's expression is unreadable, his eyes guarded. "I heard you weren't much of a fan."

"I don't like guns," Caffrey says simply, but there is something powerful in the tone that makes Wilkes think that maybe, just maybe, he should not cross the conman over this.

Wilkes ignores the impulse. "Learn to," he says coldly.

Caffrey's jaw clenches. He stands up. "I don't think this partnership is going to work, Wilkes. Irreconcilable differences. I'm out."

"I can't let you do that, Caffrey," Wilkes sighs, signaling one of his men. There is the click of a gun, and Caffrey turns around, slowly, to face the muzzle, hands in the air.

"Going to shoot me, Wilkes?"

"I don't want to. But you have to understand, you know too much."

Caffrey is silent for a moment. His blue eyes are fixed on the gun, and Wilkes can see he is weighing his options. Finally, "One job. I get those gems, and then we're done. We leave each other alone."

Wilkes considers the offer. "You'll help willingly?"

"You're not giving me much of a choice, are you?"

He disregards the sarcasm, "I need to know that you're not going to drag your feet, Caffrey. A reluctant member threatens the entire operation."

Caffrey affects outrage. "Are you questioning my professional integrity? I'll get the job done."

Wilkes doesn't doubt that Caffrey will come through. Despite everything, the dark-haired charmer has an image to uphold, and he won't risk getting caught over a minor disagreement over operation styles.

* * *

Over the next few days, Caffrey's work only serves to prove this point. Wilkes has Caffrey collecting intel on every aspect of the trunk show, from the sellers to the buyers to the details of the show itself. The details Caffrey is coming back with are superb and thorough.

"The host of the show is Randy Moroscoe. Works the gray side of the gem business—"

"—so he sells the story behind the jewels. I know what it means," Wilkes finishes edgily.

"I've used one of my aliases to integrate myself with Randy. George is an established gem dealer, and once Randy found out I was interested in doing business, he was very enthusiastic about involving me. I've been introduced to all the significant buyers, and Randy has promised to give me a preview of the jewels he is putting on display."

"Well done," Wilkes says carelessly. A beat, then, "I want to meet him."

Wilkes thinks he sees a flash of triumph in Caffrey's eyes, but it is gone before he can be sure it was there. "You want to meet Randy? What, you don't trust me?"

"Not even a little, Caffrey."

"They said you were intelligent," there is mocking respect in Caffrey's tone. "But that still doesn't make it a good idea."

"Why not?"

"How do you plan to pull it off? The show's in three days. He's only meeting potential buyers right now—"

"Then make me a buyer."

Caffrey is shaking his head. "It's not that easy, Wilkes. To get in this late, he's going to need some sort of assurance that you're serious about buying—"

"What if I gave him an account? A prepayment in good faith, if you will."

"It'll have to be significant."

Wilkes considers his funds. "Would half a million do it?"

Caffrey pauses. "It might."

"Make the identity," Wilkes orders. "And come up with something for Samson and Travers, too. We'll use the buyer as our in to the show."

"You want to use the buyer to get in," Caffrey repeats skeptically. "And I suppose that makes Samson and Travers your bodyguards? Or your assistants?"

The criminal grins. "Sure. A rich buyer like myself could use one of each. Do it." Wilkes strolls out, leaving a disgruntled Caffrey is his wake. He doesn't look back, though. He has an account to set up, after all.

* * *

They meet the next day at a coffee shop around the block from Moroscoe's shop. Caffrey is sporting a pair of glasses and has traded his typical rat-pack look for something a little more subdued. He looks every inch a potential gem trader.

"Is the account ready?"

"Just needs a name," Wilkes replies. "The IDs?"

The forger slides a manila envelope across the table.

"They're all in here."

Wilkes opens the thick envelope and gives the IDs a cursory scan. They look legitimate. Not that Caffrey's work could appear as anything less.

"What's the plan?" Wilkes asks after finishing his examination.

"I have my preview with Randy now. Wait half an hour, and then come in. Make sure Travers comes with you."

"Travers?"

"Your bodyguard," Caffrey explains patiently. "Ryan Walters wouldn't make a trip like this without him."

Wilkes nods. Caffrey throws a five on the table to pay for his drink. "Half an hour," he repeats. "And, remember, we don't know each other."

Wilkes rolls his eyes at the reminder, and then Caffrey is gone. He passes the half an hour fixing the account information to match the alias Caffrey has created. Then, he and Travers are walking into Moroscoe's shop.

Caffrey and Moroscoe must have just been finishing, because they are shaking hands, and an assistant is bringing Caffrey his coat.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Donnelly."

"Likewise," Caffrey smiles, and it is everything genuine and pleasurable. For not the first time, Wilkes is impressed by how easily Caffrey is able to wear other identities. "I wish it didn't have to be cut short, but—"

"Don't mention it. The family has to come first!" Moroscoe says sympathetically. "Give my best to Nancy, and I hope dear Dylan gets over his cold soon."

"Thank you for your kind wishes." Caffrey shrugs his coat on and turns so as to bump into Wilkes. "Oh, excuse me. I didn't see you!"

Caffrey's apology and surprise are so authentic that even Wilkes almost believes that they have never met. "Not a problem, Mr.–"

"George Donnelly," Caffrey introduces, sticking out a hand. "Are you here for the show?"

"I am looking to buy, yes."

"Then you're in good hands. I am sure your visit will be as profitable as mine," Caffrey says congenially, lightly clasping Moroscoe on the shoulder. "I'm sorry to leave like this, but I'm in a rush. I'll be in touch with the paperwork, Randy."

In this one exchange, Wilkes can understand why Caffrey is so good at what he does. In every interaction the conman shares with the mark, there is a sense of trust and sincerity conveyed. Caffrey makes his targets believe that, for the time they are together, they are his sole focus, the most important things in his life.

Moroscoe steps forward to show his customer out, "I look forward to it, Mr. Donnelly."

With that, Caffrey was gone. Randy watches him leave, a look of fondness on his face. "Good man. Wish there were more like him in our business," he announces, and then turns to Wilkes. "Are you a family man, Mr. Walters?"

"Unfortunately not," Wilkes says truthfully.

"A shame. It's always much easier to get to know a client if he as a family to talk about." Apparently Caffrey had pulled out all the stops for the alias he was using. Then Moroscoe is pointing to a chair across from him, "Please, take a seat! Should I get one for your guard—"

"Michael prefers to stand," Wilkes says firmly, and the meeting is underway.

It goes well. Moroscoe completely buys the alias Caffrey has set up, and Wilkes is holding an invitation to the trunk show when he exits the shop. Caffrey is leaning against Wilkes's car, waiting.

"We're in," Wilkes declares, and Caffrey smiles, a puckish glint dancing in those blue eyes.

"This is going to be fun."

Wilkes agrees.

* * *

The day before the job is spent finalizing the last minute details and running through the plan until each second of the schedule is ingrained in their minds. By late evening, Wilkes is confident that his crew could pull it off in their sleep, and decides it's time for a break.

"We've done well, boys. Let's go for dinner and drinks. My treat!"

Samson and Travers are on their feet immediately, but Caffrey politely refuses, claiming, "I have some last minute things to finish."

"What things?" Wilkes can't help but be suspicious.

"Paperwork. Randy needs some of George's financial documents, and he wants them before the show starts." Caffrey's blue eyes are wide, a smile of such pure innocence adorning his face that Wilkes is convinced. Even Caffrey couldn't fake such guiltlessness.

"You'll be missing out," Samson attempts. "The boss knows this great underground club in Chelsea."

The Caffrey wit returns, "Take some pictures for me."

"You're sure," Samson checks. "Can we bring anything back for you?"

"Just get a picture," Caffrey insists. "I'll pretend I was there."

Huh. He had never pegged Caffrey has the sentimental type. Everyone had a secret side, though, Wilkes supposes, and shrugs it off.

Caffrey is waiting for them the next morning. He has four plates of eggs and bacon ready, although Wilkes goes straight for the coffee. He might not have gone as hard as usual the night before, but there had been more than a few drinks and the criminal was nursing a small headache.

"You boys had a fun night?"

Wilkes wonders if Caffrey is being purposefully chipper. He certainly hasn't been a morning person before.

"Look for yourself," Travers says, tossing the dark-haired conman a camera. Caffrey flips through the pictures appreciatively.

"I'm sorry I missed it," he grins, pocketing the camera.

The banter continues through breakfast. There is nothing like that prospect of running a con to pull spirits up. When they finish, Caffrey makes to depart.

"Leaving?"

"Have to get the paperwork to Randy," Caffrey waves a file of papers. "We were planning on arriving separately anyway."

"All right. Show time's at one," Wilkes confirmed. "Don't be late."

Caffrey tips his fedora, "Don't worry. I'll be exactly where I need to be."

* * *

The drive over to the show location has Wilkes feeling off. There is an itch at the back of his mind, an uncertainty and anxiousness that Wilkes can't shrug off. Travers parks the car, and the moment Wilkes steps out of the car the feeling intensifies. When he enters the show hall, Wilkes wishes he had listened to his instincts.

Because upon seeing him, Moroscoe had shouted, "That's him," and suddenly the three of them are surrounded by the police. Caffrey, of course, is nowhere to be seen.

"This is a mistake," Wilkes protests, putting his hands in the air. He senses Travers and Samson do the same behind him. "I haven't done anything."

"Ryan Walters you are under arrest," an officer pronounces as he snaps on a set of handcuffs. "You have the right to remain silent…"

Wilkes tunes out the rest. Like all good criminals, he knows the spiel. And, like all good criminals, he will wait until the official interrogation before spouting out a story. It is better to know what they are charging you with, after all, before you try and refute anything.

"You're being charged with jewelry theft, Mr. Walters," the officer across from him is saying. "Last night Randy Moroscoe's entire safe was emptied of its contents."

"I didn't do it," Wilkes responds instantly. "I'm being framed."

"Oh, and I suppose the fact that it happened the day after I showed you my offices and the jewel contents is a complete coincidence," Randy says loudly. The agent quells the angry gem seller with a look.

"He's right, it doesn't look good for you," The officer says patiently. Wilkes supposes they are trying out the good-cop act first. "You said someone was trying to set you up?"

"George Donnelly," Wilkes answers promptly.

Randy snorts, and the officer turns to him. "You know this man?"

"He's a customer," Moroscoe defends. "And an honest man. He couldn't have stolen my gems, he left town two days ago."

Wilkes is startled. _Left town?_

The officer notices his surprise, because he is following up, "Do you have proof of that?"

"He had to rush through a business dealing because his son was sick and his wife had an important case she needed to work on. Booked the flight to Boston from the computer in my office. I can get the bookings for you if you want. I also have some of his financial records that he faxed over this morning; he bought a beautiful sapphire pendant for his wife before he left and some of the paperwork from the sale was left unfinished."

"_Bought_?" Wilkes echoes.

"That's right."

Wilkes is shaking his head, still trying to process the information, and, in spite of everything, a little impressed. Not only has Caffrey established a comprehensive set up, but the man has somehow managed to inspire loyalty from a mark after barely a week of interaction. "It's not true. He's a con. His real name isn't even George, it's—"

A second officer stuck his head through the door, summoning the first, and interrupting Wilkes's testimony. When the officer returned he was holding a key that was swiftly used to unlock Wilkes's cuffs.

"What are you doing?" Moroscoe demands, moving forward. "You're letting him go?"

"New evidence just came in," the interrogator explains regretfully. "A camera with time-stamped pictures showing Mr. Walters and his associates spending the night at a club in midtown was anonymously brought in. The bartender confirms the alibi."

"But it has to be him!" The tall gem seller insists. "The timing is too perfect, and the bank account he gave me is completely empty."

Wilkes, who had been on his way out, spins around. "The bank account is empty," he repeats stupidly.

"I checked it this morning when I noticed the gems were gone," Moroscoe says coolly. "This isn't over, Walters."

"That's enough," the policeman interrupts. "Mr. Walters, you are free to go. I strongly recommend that you do so."

There is no argument from Wilkes. The criminal is completely overcome with fury, and all he can think of is how slowly and painfully he is going to kill Caffrey when he gets his hands on the blue-eyed traitor.

* * *

In the end, Caffrey is not difficult to find. The conman hasn't even been trying to hide from Wilkes, a fact that bothers the syndicate leader more than a little. Caffrey has stolen half a million from him; he should be quaking in his shoes. After all, Wilkes has been to known to kill someone for less. Instead, when the dark-haired forger is brought in, he looks unruffled. Even a little amused.

"Afternoon, Wilkes," he greets, as if they are meeting at a bar and Caffrey is not chained tightly to a chair. "There really isn't a need for all the dramatics. If you wanted a meet, you should have just asked."

Wilkes ignores him, spitting, "Don't think your silver tongue is going to work on me, Caffrey."

Caffrey manages to look affronted. "I wouldn't dream of it."

His smugness is getting to Wilkes, and he can't help himself from driving a fist into Caffrey's gut. There is a moan, and a momentary expression of pain that Wilkes relishes before Caffrey is able to school his expression back into one of haughty entertainment.

"You scammed me," Wilkes accuses hotly. "The entire buyer play, it was a set-up."

"You're the one who suggested a meeting with Randy, Wilkes—"

"—Because you made me!" Wilkes exclaims. "You got me to convince you it was a good idea, you slippery bastard."

Caffrey's lips twitch, and Wilkes can tell that the con artist is pleased with himself.

"We had a deal, Caffrey. You didn't fulfill your end—"

"But I did," Caffrey interjects innocently. "You're the one who's not holding your side."

"You told me that we'd get the gems—"

"I told you," Caffrey corrects tolerantly, "_I_ would get the gems, and then we would be done." He is wearing a self-satisfied grin, now. "Well, Wilkes, I have the gems. Now it's on you to leave me alone."

Wilkes pauses, stupefied. "You said—"

"Name one time I lied to you, and I'll give you the entire take."

Wilkes considers, and, as much as he hates to admit it, he can't come up with an occasion. Because Caffrey may have let Wilkes come to false conclusions, may have withheld certain information, but there was never an outright falsehood uttered.

The syndicate leader blinks. "Doesn't matter," he says finally. "You got me arrested—"

"Under a fake name. The police have nothing on you. And I got you out. You don't think that the camera just magically appeared, do you?" Caffrey is impatient. "I might be a thief, Wilkes, but don't accuse me of being a dishonest one."

"Shut up!" Wilkes thunders. Caffrey persuasive tongue is at work, and Wilkes doesn't like the confusion it is causing. "Not another word. You stole five hundred thousand dollars from me. That isn't something I can overlook."

He removes his gun from its holster. At last, Caffrey is looking wary and uncertain.

"Come on, man, I told you I didn't like guns," he says, his eyes fixed on the barrel.

"Well," Wilkes cocks the weapon, "you won't have to worry about that for much longer. What do you think… should I start with your hands?"

"I'd rather you didn't," Caffrey's response is immediate. "They're fairly important in my line of work."

Wilkes smiles in spite of his anger. "I'm going to miss that wit of yours, Caffrey. I just wish you had been more reasonable… we really could have been something."

"Thunder and lightning, I know." The tone is cheeky. "Like I said before, though, our styles just aren't compatible. See, I prefer brain to brawn."

The criminal's expression grows cold. He raises the gun so it is pointing at Caffrey's forehead. "Any last words?"

Caffrey ponders for a moment. "Did you know I've never met a lock I couldn't pick?"

Wilkes is startled by the choice of words, and that moment of surprise is all it takes for Caffrey to leap from the chair, the chains that were supposed to be binding him falling uselessly to the floor. He is across the room in seconds, and by the time Wilkes gets a shot off, Caffrey is swinging off the balcony banister onto the one below. Wilkes all but sprints to the balcony in pursuit, but the conman has vanished.

And as livid as Wilkes is, he can't help but admire Caffrey's guts and brazenness. Because the conman has completely and utterly outplayed him, and even Wilkes is not such an ungracious loser to not be a little impressed. He underestimated his opponent. He hadn't expected Caffrey to go such lengths to avoid hurting strangers, hadn't thought that Caffrey's softhearted morals were so strong.

Wilkes won't make that mistake again.

_Fin_

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**This story was the result of watching the episode "Front Man" in which Neal is kidnapped by a former associate of his, Ryan Wilkes. During the episode several references were made to a past betrayal of Neal's which involved our favorite conman gathering intel for Wilkes and then stealing $500,000 after he learned that the job they were going to pull involved hurting people with guns. The end result of the interaction was that Wilkes tried to kill Neal (or as Mozzie so aptly put it, "wanted to dismember" Neal). The repeated references to Wilkes and Neal's past inspired me to fill in the gaps, which I hope this story has done a good job of.  
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**I decided to incorporate Randy Moroscoe, the gem seller from "What Happens in Burma," because he seemed to fit into the overall plot. It didn't hurt that I also wanted to dig into Neal's use of the George Donnelly alias, and this seemed as good a time as any for George and Randy to have first met each other. Hopefully, you find the scenario realistic.  
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**I have always been more interested in pre-series moments of the characters. We know where the characters are now, but it is always fun to try and imagine how they got there. So, for the foreseeable future, my dabbles into the white collar world will be investigating the character's pasts. I will leave their presents and futures to Jeff Eastin and his talented writing crew. With that said, t****his chapter will probably be the first in series of one-shots relating cons and scams pulled by Neal. Next up will most likely be a chapter detailing Neal's partnership with Keller. **

******I hope you found my interpretation enjoyable. Regardless, please review. Constructive criticism and comments are always appreciated. **  


******Cheers,  
**

******The Third Marauder  
**


	2. The Good Old Days

**Disclaimer: White Collar and the characters within are the property of Jeff Eastin and USA. The title of the chapter comes from a line in Episode 3.11, Checkmate, "Remind you of the good old days, buddy?"**

…

…

…

* * *

_The connection is immediate, the sparks instant._

_His opponent stares at the dice for a couple seconds, and then looks up, amusement and surprise dancing in his light blue eyes._

_"You too?" His challenger asks, and the dark haired twenty-some year old has dropped his French accent for a generic American one._

_"Looks like we have a lot in common," He says, losing the Scottish lilt for his native Bronx pronunciations._

_"Apparently," the man grins, extending a hand. "Neal Caffrey."_

_He takes it. "Matthew Keller."_

* * *

They cut their teeth working the World Backgammon Finals.

Matthew had never pulled a con with somebody else before, and, despite popular belief, having double the manpower does not cut the work in half. There is a synchronization that needs to be developed when working with someone else, a method of communication so that they don't step on each other's toes during the scheme. But they accomplish it. Their skills complement each other naturally. Matthew has the vision; he can see the con five, six steps in advance. Neal has the talent, the ability, and the charm to adapt to the situation when Matthew's plan falls through.

"Pardonnez-moi, monsieur," Neal asks the casino floor manager. "Oú est le Vicomte Hinchingbrooke?"

Lord Montagu, Viscount Hinchingbrooke, had requested the hotel to keep his identity a secret; he was in Monaco with his girlfriend on vacation, and did not want the press to interfere. That did not stop the Grand Casino's Manager from pointing the man out when asked by two members of law enforcement. It still amazes Matthew how trusting people are of men in police uniforms.

"Merci," Neal is thanking the manager, before leading Matthew to one of the Backgammon tables. On their way, he murmurs, "Last chance to do this the quiet way."

"Scared, Caffrey?"

"I think there are less reckless ways," he shoots back. But, he doesn't hesitate to run the con when they finally reach their target. He keeps his voice low, "Bonsoir, Monsieur le Vicomte, avez vous un moment?"

"D'accord," the viscount says immediately, but looks startled at the recognition, as he steps aside with them. "Serait-il possible de parler anglais?"

"Certainly," Neal smiles, and Matthew bites back a grin. It is why they chose an English target; while Neal's French was flawless, Matthew's left much to be desired.

"What can I do to help you, Officers?" Lord Montagu asks anxiously.

"We have reason to believe that you may have been robbed," Matthew says calmly.

"Earlier today, we captured a thief by the name of Jean Demas. He's been on Interpol's watchlist for years," Neals explains.

"You have brought several pieces of art on your trip, haven't you?" Matthew questions, confident, as if he conducts investigations daily.

The Viscount nods, "Yes. I prefer to trade in art-it's less bulky than cash. Why?'

"We think Demas was after one of them. We found plans of your hotel suite and manor house in his hotel room, as well as lined architect tubes often used in the transport of paintings."

Lord Montagu pales significantly at Neal's information.

"Would you mind accompanying us to your room, so that you can do a thorough search. Make sure nothing is missing?"

"But, of course," the English aristocrat agrees immediately. Behind his back, Matthew and Neal share a relieved glance. So far so good.

Lord Montagu examines every inch of his room, revealing the locations and, more importantly, the identities of all the pieces. And judging by the twinkle in Neal's eyes, the blue-eyed conman noted the combination to each of the three safes when Montagu checked them.

Finally, "Nothing seems to be missing."

"Good," Matthew responds, "then we have all we need."

"We've spoken to hotel security, so they are aware of the situation," Neal adds smoothly. "I advise you not to change any personal security measures you have in place; last minute modifications usually play into thieves' hands."

The Viscount looks slightly comforted, if nothing else. "Is there anything—"

"We'll be in touch," Neal reassures, quickly, his tone so sincere that Lord Montagu's reluctance vanishes. They lead Montagu back to the Casino Floor, depositing him at his original table with fake business cards.

Neal spends the night painting. When they break in the next day, they have the valuables replaced with forgeries within five minutes.

* * *

_ They've been drinking for at least an hour, and Matthew can hardly believe that they haven't known each other for more than two._

_"Come on," Matthew is pressing. "What was it?"_

_Neal is reluctant, but his vanity eventually triumphs. "Hustled a guy at pool. I was nine. Yours?"_

_"I was eleven. Pickpocketing on the subway."_

_"Begins early, doesn't it?"_

_"Yeah, well, it's an addiction. Once you start, it's impossible to stop."_

_"Even if you wanted to."_

_"Even if," Matthew agrees._

* * *

They get bolder.

Matthew is not surprised. Neither had any intention of a career change, and, once that decision was made, there was really only one way for them to go. They were in this game because of the adventure, because of the rush, and small, parlor tricks from Monaco lost their appeal very quickly.

"I still don't like it," Matthew is uncertain.

It is one of their more unusual cons. The target is Sergio Vergés, a Spanish crime boss whose reputation for ruthlessness is only superseded by his notoriety as an avid coin collector. Matthew and Neal are interested in the latter, but it is the former that seems to be capturing most of their concern.

Matthew is playing the inside man for this caper, something uncommon in itself. But, they had come to the conclusions that Neal's elegant looks and sophisticated charm would not make it into Vergés' syndicate, even if he employed his silver tongue to its full effect. Dressed down, the best Neal could ever manage to pull off was boyish innocence. Matthew, on the other hand, can perform unscrupulous, low class miscreant with the best of them.

They are in the final stages, and Matthew can't help but feel something is wrong. The exit strategy is too dependent on how Vergés reacts, too up in the air and variable for Matthew to feel comfortable. The Bronx native has never enjoyed unpredictability, especially when it is _his_ life on the line.

"There's too much that can go wrong," he finally tells Neal the night before the big show.

Neal is lying on a bed, calm and relaxed. He rolls to his side to face Matthew, an eyebrow raised. "You want to call it off?"

They entered this profession because of the high that pulling off a risky con gave. And as much as Matthew values his own life, the promise of that thrill is too much to pass up. So instead, he deflects, "What happens if he doesn't buy the act?"

Neal grins, apparently unconcerned, "I'll improvise."

"But what if—"

"I got it covered, all right," Neal cuts him off sharply.

Matthew has the good sense to let it go. Neal is a perfectionist with an overexpressed sense of ego. If he says he will get something done, his pride will not allow him to do otherwise.

"Then we're on for tomorrow."

Neal quirks an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips, "I guess we are."

The heist doesn't quite go according to plan.

Matthew is caught making the betrayal, just as he and Neal intended. The interrogation goes well, and, by the end of it, Vergés is convinced not only that he needs to move the coins to a safer location but also that he should keep Matthew alive and healthy as leverage against the Corzoli crime crew that sent him. He even places the bound and gagged Matthew with the coins; after all, if the warehouse is safe enough to hold his precious treasure, it is secure enough to use as a holding room. Which, supposedly, would make Matthew's escape that much easier.

Except they drug him.

Meaning that Matthew is unable to undo the knots tying him, meaning that he is unable to lift a phone off the guards when they come to feed him to contact Neal with, meaning that not only is Neal's exit strategy nonexistent, but that the blue eyed conman has no idea where Matthew, and, therefore the coins, are being held.

He is not so drugged that he is unaware when the moving truck is brought inside the warehouse, is not unconscious of the fact that, once the coins are moved, Vergés has no reason to not contact Corzoli and discover that Matthew's entire story is fake. The truck is loaded by evening, with plans to take off the next morning, and when Matthew finally falls into a loopy asleep, he is painful aware of the fact that this might be his last night of sleep left.

It can't be more than two hours when he is shaken awake. His vision slowly focuses on a pair of concerned, bright blue eyes. "Whatcha doin' 'ere?" he slurs. They had given him a dose before leaving, so, unfortunately, he was on the high end of the drug.

Neal steps back. "I told you, I would improvise." He pauses. "What did they do to you?"

Matthew shrugs haphazardly. "M'fine. Ready to party."

"Right, Jeff Spicoli," Neal sighs, crouching to chair level so that he can undo Matthew's binds. "Let's get out of here."

Matthew knows Neal is describing the plan as he helps carry him to the truck, but, he takes none of it in. The moment he is seated, Matthew's out like a light.

He doesn't know how long he's unconscious, but he is nursing a massive headache when he wakes up. They are in a hotel room, somewhere. The blinds are drawn and the lights dim, but that does not stop Matthew from seeing Neal reading in one of the armchairs.

"Where are we?" He keeps his voice steady and even.

Neal looks up, surprised, but pleased. "You're up! I was coming close to calling a doctor…"

"Where are we?" He repeats, a tad more urgently.

"Barcelona."

"Barcelona? I thought we were in Madrid."

"We were," Neal explains patiently. "Drove all night to get here."

"Drove?"

"Yeah. Took six hours to get here, not to mention the hour it took wipe the warehouse of any sign we had been there, and the two it took to find a place to store the coins and dispose of the truck."

"So the warehouse is here? In Barcelona?" Matthew's brain was hurting.

"The warehouse is in Madrid," Neal corrects, amusement flickering in his eyes. "_We're_ in Barcelona."

It still makes no sense to the muddled Matthew. There is a moment of silence, during which Matthew decides that the location is irrelevant anyway, and then another couple seconds while he remembers the important stuff. "How did you find me? And how did you get in there without triggering the alarm? The entire storage area was tripped up."

Neal grins, and his tone is boastful and proud as he elucidates, "I snuck in with the truck. Fake floorboard. Bided my time until they left for the night, and then came out."

"And the exit—"

"There was an alarm override panel on the inside of the warehouse. Guess they didn't think you were going to give them much trouble," he says lightly. Neal doesn't hide the fact that he has thoroughly impressed himself. "I don't know why we didn't think of the truck, earlier. It was beautiful in its simplicity."

"And you got—"

"I got _everything_."

And despite the pounding in his head, a small smile spreads across Matthew's face.

Because it may not have been their best con, but, in the end, well, they had pulled it off.

* * *

_When it is first suggested, Neal is hesitant. Cautious. Another thing Matthew respects about the man sitting across from him._

"_Work together?" He repeats._

"_I think we could be good. For a time."_

_Even Matthew is not foolish enough to insinuate that such an arrangement can be permanent. Men like them did not settle; it was not in their natures to form long-lasting relationships._

"_The infamous Caffrey and Keller," Neal says thoughtfully, trying it on for size._

"_What do you think?"_

"_I think," Neal's words are deliberate, and he is wearing a slight smile, "that the alliteration might be too perfect to pass up."_

* * *

There were, not rules per say (they made their life earnings working outside of the lines, after all), but guidelines. An unspoken, but nevertheless underlying and understood protocol that dictates how cons should behave when entering a partnership or crew.  
It made sense. Most partnerships were short term and for people who each spent their time lying, conning, and stealing, to work together, there had to be some sort of framework, some set of established principles, otherwise it would never work.

Because even though there was leeway, even though the etiquette precedents and polite formalities that the code set were interpreted in the loosest possible sense, there was one rule, one golden law that respectable con men followed. As selfish as one was, a grifter never flips on his partner. As long as two crooks were officially co-conspirators, for however brief that time was, there was to be no lying, no cheating, and no backstabbing. Partners had each other's backs.

Who said there was no honor to be found among thieves?

And so when Matthew gets over the shock of seeing Neal perched, fifty feet up, on a ledge of Buckingham Palace, completely naked if not for the well-positioned golden tray, there really is only one thing to do.

Though he would lying to say he wasn't sorely tempted to let Neal fix this one on his own, because, really, this is more than a little ridiculous. First of all, he had no business being anywhere near the Princess' room; they weren't supposed to run the con till the next night. Secondly, there were things called doors that normal people used as entrances and exits. And, thirdly, _Neal had no business being near the Princess' room_. Then, he sees the bearskin wearing head poke out from the Princess' window, and he realizes that Neal isn't hanging out there by choice.

"Shit." So much for a quiet midnight stroll.

One of the Queen's guards is following Neal out the window, and, there is another, a floor above, pointing his gun at the exposed cozener. Matthew wishes he could see Neal's expression. The grifter is scaling sliding along the wall, and, if the situation wasn't so serious, Matthew would take the time to admire the grace and elegance with which he shuffles along the ledge. Instead, Matthew is busy avoiding being glimpsed by crazy Englishmen with guns as he scales the wall.

"Sir, in the name of Her Majesty, I must ask you to stop, or we _will_ shoot!"

_Sir_? Right. Neal had been posing as an admiral in the royal navy.

Neal freezes, but his head turns down, and Matthew knows that the blue-eyed charmer is calculating the distance to the ground. Matthew, who is hanging underneath a ledge, about half way to Neal, his body hidden by the protruding ridges' shadow, sticks a hand out. Neal sees the hand immediately. Within seconds Neal has released his handhold on the wall. He catches Matthews arm on the way down, the brief seconds where their hands are tightly holding each other provide enough of a stop from gravity for them to leap the rest of the way without serious worry for injury. They hit the ground with a roll, vanishing into the trees surrounding the palace, within seconds.

"No," Neal hisses, after they have lost sight of the guards. "We can't escape this way."

"Then how do you suggest we leave?"  
"We don't. We go back."

Matthew halts in utter amazement, "You have the entire Queen's Guard searching for you, and your brilliant idea is to_ go back_."

"It's the last thing they'd expect," Neal says, turning them around and heading toward the palace.

"Yeah," Matthew snorts, "because it's absolute suicide."

"They're looking for two people on the run. They're going to have all the entrances covered and a five block search radius," Neal says firmly. "Besides, I need clothes."

There's a fair point to the last one. "Where'd you get the tray, anyway?"

"Maid threw it at me."

Huh. When they were done running for their lives, he was getting that story.

They slip into one of the side entrances by the laundry rooms. Matthew grabs the first set of clothing he finds, and throws it into the cupboard where Neal is hiding.

Neal emerges in the crisp, pressed designer slacks and buttoned shirt of a wealthy aristocrat, the characteristic twinkle dancing across his eyes.

"You have a plan."

"You're not going to like it."

He didn't.

"I think you've read The Hobbit one too many times," he grumbles into his knees. His knees which are pressed into his chin because they are sitting in a crate. A large crate, to be fair, but a crate none-the-less.

"Stop complaining." Neal's whisper comes from the other side of the crate. If it weren't pitch black inside the damned crate, Matthew knows he would see the charlatan's eyes rolling. "Besides, they were in barrels."

"Forgive me." The sarcasm was thick. "What were you doing in the Princess' room, anyway?"

A pause. Finally, "I tailed her to one of the guest's rooms. I figured she would be a while, so I thought we could save a lot of trouble, and get the passcode tonight."

"She came back earlier than-"

"-I expected, yeah."

"And you, what? Persuaded her that you were so in love with her that you had to see her?"

"An admiral can't fall in love with a princess?" Neal's tone is angelic. "I'd been laying the groundwork all week, anyway."

"And I suppose the maid just happened to walk in on you." Silence. "The_ maid_ walked in on you."

Neal is defensive. "I was a bit preoccupied trying to convince a princess that I was in love with her to keep an ear to the door."

Matthew shakes his head, even though he knows Neal can't see him. "You could have been shot."

"They wouldn't have shot me," Neal dismisses scornfully. "They were trying to keep it quiet. They hardly want it getting out that the queen's granddaughter was caught in bed with-"

"I get it." Matthew's tone is abrupt and edgy. "You had everything under control."

Neal doesn't say anything. It is quiet for several minutes. Then, the con man's voice is soft and fervent, "I didn't. I wouldn't have gotten away as easily if you hadn't been there."

Matthew smiles to himself. It wasn't a thank you, but the meaning was there none the less.

"No problem, buddy."

* * *

"_No." Neal's expression has suddenly grown cold and unyielding. "No violence." _

_Matthew blinks. "I hadn't took you for someone who who was afraid to get their hands dirty. Besides, we're not actually going to use the guns." _

"_The problem with the threat of violence," he replies, "is that, eventually, someone is going to call you on it. And, then you're stuck." _

"_And, then you shoot them," Matthew corrects. "This isn't a children's game, Caffrey." _

"_Conning is an art. An intellectual pursuit." There is no compromise in his gaze, those startling blue eyes resolute and unwavering. "Violence requires no creativity. It's blunt. Base. _Easy_. Anyone can use a gun."_

_Matthew tilts his head in consideration, and there is a little bit of disgusted condescension. "A white collar criminal through and through, are you?" _

_Neal ignores the jab. "No guns." _

"_All right," Matthew capitulates lightly. Innocently. Falsely. "No guns."_

* * *

Matthew hated working with amateurs.

Judging by the unconcealed vexation on Neal's face, the dark-haired charlatan felt the same. They watch Kogler bumble his way into the building, three minutes off schedule.

"He's-"

"I know."

"You're sure-"

"He's supposed to be one of the best," Neal promises.

They are pulling a heist in Switzerland of the John Dillinger variation. Swiss banks had notoriously high levels of security, and they had needed a tech person to deal with surveillance and alarms while the two of them cracked the safe. Johann Kogler was green in the criminal world, but he had years of experience programming bank security from the other side. And he was looking to supplement his income.

He was also a wreck of inelegance, nerves, and sloppiness.

Matthew feels Neal wince as their associate nearly trips over a bench. "You think we could just-"

"-leave him here?"

Matthew half shrugs. "Nothing like on-the-job training. He has to learn that you can't afford to lose focus eventually. That the smallest miscalculation can mean game over." Neal's nose is suddenly wrinkling in disdain at another display of clumsiness. "Neal?"

"Trust me, I'm considering it," the con man assures.

But Neal is joking. Matthew isn't. He doesn't tolerate blunders, especially in coworkers. If he is going to be caught, it will not be due to somebody else's error of judgement. He wants it to be known that working with him requires absolute perfection.

"You're late," are the first words out his mouth.

Kogler flinches at the icy tone. "I'm sorry," he stutters, "I forgot-"

"There's no room for mistakes in this game." He steps intimidatingly toward the cowering man only to find Neal moving between them.

"Not now," the forger says firmly, blue eyes locked with brown with conveyed significance. "We're on a deadline."

Matthew hesitates but ultimately lets Neal cart him away. He still shoots the Austrian a glare, though, accompanied with the warning, "I only give one second chance."

The moment they are around the corner, Matthew pushes Neal off him, spitting, "You shouldn't have gotten in the way."

"We need him," Neal responds, unfazed. "And we need him calm and functional."

Matthew's arms are crossed, and he is ready to continue when they hear a pair of security guards enter the room next to theirs. Immediately, their argument is forgotten, and the two con men proceed to focus on the job at hand.

Against all odds, they make it. As awful as Kogler is as a burglar, once the man enters the security hub, he is a smooth professional. He has the alarms circumvented within five minutes, the cameras stalled on taped images within seven. His and Neal's part goes off without a hitch, of course. The two have worked together long enough to know each other's methods and read each other's actions instantaneously. So, despite the delay coming in, they are out with time to spare, six large holdalls full of cash, bonds, and every other form of currency in between.

"And did you see?" Kogler was babbling, excited and thrilled in the way that only came after a good, successful con. Neal and Matthew exchanged an amused glance - both remembered the epic rush of their first job, that high that they could not replicate any other way. "There were some Atlantics in there, too!"

"Atlantics?"

Kogler nodded enthusiastically to Neal's query. "Atlantic Bonds. The perfect way to get cash. They're supposed to be unbeatable. Impossible to forge. So banks never ask questions when you turn one in."

"Nothing's impossible," Neal comments doubtfully. "I bet I could forge one."

"I would take you up on that bet, Caffrey," the Austrian accepts.

"Keep your wallet free, then."

Matthew hides a grin at Neal's confident pride and changes the subject. "What are you going to do with your share, Kogler?"

"Get it out of the country as soon as possible. I have a flight in the morning back to Austria," the electrician reports, patting his front pocket. Suddenly he is dropping his two holdalls, a look of pure panic crossing his face, as he pats the front pockets of his jacket down.

"What happened?" Neal puts his bags down, concerned.

"I think I left my passport back in the security room!" Kogler exclaims, checking his breast pockets.

Matthew doesn't wait for Neal to suggest a plan of retrieval. He has the gun out and fired within seconds. Neal's expression as the Austrian crumples to the ground is blank. There is no fear, no anger, no grief. His face is empty as he crouches down, fingers pressing at Kogler's jugular vein, searching for a pulse. Then, his hand his passing over Kogler's face, shutting the shocked green eyes and stating simply, "I hope you have a plan for this."

Neal is quiet as they move the body. Quiet and expressionless and Matthew wonders what is going through the con man's head through all this. It isn't until they are leaving the abandoned basement where they had left the body that Neal speaks to him. He is pressing a rectangular shaped item into Matthew's hand, his voice disapproving and soft.

"It was in his back pocket."

Matthew looks down. It is Kogler's passport.

Neal drops his portion of the holdalls in the living room heads straight to his room when they return to the apartment they had been 'borrowing' from a lovely couple on vacation. Matthew knows Neal well enough to let him stew it out. He spends two hours examining the take before stealing into Neal's room. There are two bags on the bed, one zipped shut, the other half-full.

"Was the plan to slip out in the middle of the night?"

To Neal's credit, he doesn't tense or flinch. His tone is even. "There aren't really goodbyes in our business."

"He had seen our faces. I didn't have a choice."

"There are always options," Neal says coldly.

Matthew shrugs. He isn't going to apologize. And Neal isn't going to change his mind.

So he motions to the hallway where the take from their heist is located. "Half of it is yours."

"I don't want it," Neal says immediately. Substantially. "It's dirty money."

"It was never clean to begin with, Neal. It was stolen."

It is Neal's turn to shrug and turn away. Matthew steps forward so he is next to the bed, arms reach of the open bag and Neal. "It was a pleasure working with you, Caffrey. We were good."

"We certainly had our moments, Keller."

Matthew nods decisively. It really is over. He hides the folded Atlantic bond in Neal's suitcase and then leaves. Despite how their partnership was ending, he owes the blue-eyed grifter the chance to make good on his boast. And, loath though he is to admit it, he still admires the con. Respects him. Wants to see how far he goes.

So he will keep this bridge open. He only hopes that, given time, Neal feels the same way.

When he wakes up the next morning, all signs of Neal have vanished. And then he sees the chessboard. A white knight has been put into play. He grins.

The game is still on.

* * *

_The first time they meet, it is electric. _

_It is the fast-paced retorts of Abbott and Costello, the witty banter of Morecambe and Wise, and Matthew really believes that he has found someone that can keep up with him, someone that he can respect, someone that he wants to work with. Because there is something special here, and this is a relationship that Matthew wants to develop and explore. _

"_You're a chess player?" Neal is examining the contents of his hotel room, not that the chessboard is particularly hard to miss. It is one of the more prominent features. _

"_I like the challenge. Do you play?" Matthew is leaning on the wall, watching Neal move around. He is precise. Careful. Confident. _

"_I dabble." _

"_Up for a game?" _

_Neal's blue eyes are striking as he moves to the board. "Is this your way of testing me?" _

"_I think you can learn a lot about a person based on how they play chess." Matthew sets the board. _

"_You're letting me play white," Neal comments, taking a seat. _

"_You're the one with the morals. Virtuous white seems appropriate." _

_Neal tilts his head in acquiescence and moves his king pawn. Matthew parries. _

"_The Scandinavian Defense," Neal raises an eyebrow. "Unusual." _

"_I like the unexpected." _

_Neal is motionless. He is looking at Matthew, thoughtfully. "Ok," he says slowly. "Ok, I'm in. Let's do it." The dark haired con man stands up. "This will be interesting." _

"_We're not going to finish?" Matthew gestures to the board. _

"_We're ongoing right? Then the game is, too." _

_Matthew stands. "I wonder how it will end." _

_Neal smiles and captures Matthew's pawn. "I don't." _

_Matthew stares after him, lips twitching. Interesting is certainly right._

* * *

_TBC_

* * *

*** French Translations:

Pardonnez-moi, monsieur = excuse me, sir

Oú est le Vicomte Hinchingbrooke? = Where is the Viscount Hinchingbrooke  
Merci = Thank you

Bonsoir, Monsieur le Vicomte, avez vous un moment? = Good day, Sir Viscount, do you have a moment?

D'accord = Certainly

Serait-il possible de parler anglais? = Would it be possible to speak English?

* * *

**The Cons:  
**

**My information about the cons Neal executed with Keller comes from the following episodes/sources. **

**World Backgammon Finals****: Episode 1.12, Bottlenecked. Neal tells Peter that they cut their teeth working the world Backgammon Finals and that they had met in the grand casino. I took some liberty with this one, because, Backgammon is only a two-person game, so you can't really be backgammon partners. **

**Dressing up as Police Officers to retrieve information****: Episode 3.11, Checkmate. Neal and Keller see the police jackets in the episode and Neal says, "Just like old times," meaning that they have impersonated law officials in the middle of a con, before. **

**Coin con in Madrid****: Episode 3.11, Checkmate. Neal details his plan to get into the warehouse, Keller responds "Barcelona 2001?" to which Neal corrects, "It was Madrid." I thought it was strange that Keller, who is usually so precise, would confuse the locations, so I came up with the drug scenario. Keller continues to tell Peter that they were scamming a coin collector, before Neal cuts him off. This also provides my timeline for the events of this chapter – Neal and Keller must have first met before the Adler/New York/Kate chapter of Neal's life. **

**Princess Incident****: Episode 3.11, Checkmate. Keller says "Except last time we were sneaking out of somewhere because you got caught in bed with that princess. […] I remember seeing you standing there with nothing but a solid-gold tray covering your junk. I was the one that got you down from there before they started shooting you." **

**Impersonating an Admiral in the Royal Navy: Episode 3.08, As You Were. Neal tells the Harvard Crew that he had been an admiral in the royal navy once.  
**

**Buckingham Palace: Episode 1.07, Free Fall. Neal tells Peter, "I've been to Buckingham Palace. This is better."  
**

**Three man job/Death of the third man****: Episode 2.14, Payback. Neal tells Diana: "Early in his career, Keller pulled a 3-man job. The game was pretty straightforward, and nobody got hurt. But while they're walking away from the site, the third man says he thinks he left his passport behind. While he's checking his pockets, Keller put a bullet in his head. The guy's passport was in his back pocket the whole time. Keller didn't wait to find out." **

**The Scandinavian Defense****: It was the opening Keller played when he and Neal sat down to play in Episode 2.14, Payback. In Episode 1.12, Neal recognizes Keller from the chess moves, so it seems to be safe to say that the two continued to play the same game throughout their encounters.**

* * *

**A/N:**

**I have always been fascinated by the Neal/Keller relationship. It has been such an integral part of the series so far, that I think their background history is something that has to be developed. There is so much tension and competition between the two characters, and yet, it is made pretty clear that they used to be partners and friends. So I've always been curious to see how that transition from partners to competitors occurred. **

**This isn't the complete story for my Keller/Neal background universe. Obviously, they met sometime after Neal came to New York, because Keller knew Kate. So there is a second part of this that I will probably work on sometime in the future, that will detail the Kate/Keller interactions, the McNally Solitaire job, and the Ben Franklin bottle, etc, and focuses more on the development of their rivalry. But this seemed a pretty natural halfway point to stop it at. I hope that readers found it to be a realistic portrayal of both characters. **

**As always, comments and constructive criticism is always appreciated. Please review below. **

**Thanks for reading, **

**The Third Marauder**


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